Green
by Llmav
Summary: Austin finds some Irish luck.


**A/N; So this one is kind of short and rushed as I didn't have much time, but I wanted to keep up with my own tradition of posting one-shots for every holiday. The only reason I started writing this one was because it allowed me to have Austin wear a green shirt. For those of you who have read my other stories, I think green shirts have taken over my obsession with plaid. **

**Oh, and this is mostly crappy smut. You have been warned. Cheers!**

He was neither Irish nor considering himself particularly lucky, still he found himself in the crowded bar with yet another green beer in hand. It was packed, the room filled with joyful college students just like himself (well, minus the joyful part) and the music was blasting into the too small and with shamrocks over-decorated room.

St Patrick's Day.

Yippie.

He hadn't been in the mood to party for the past few months, and initially he hadn't been planning on going tonight. But he changed his mind as he knew _she_ would be there.

There was absolutely no way he was going to let his sulking ruin the opportunity for yet another night of pining after her like a lovesick puppy.

Because it was just so much _fun_.

He obviously had a penchant for self-torture.

He observed her a few tables away, her face as pretty as always, and he clenched his teeth as he saw that she was wearing some green, curve-hugging dress.

Too bad.

He had been wanting to pinch her.

Up against the wall.

With his dick slamming into her fast and repeatedly.

Yeah.

It should be freaking illegal to look that good.

Who was that leprechaun she was talking to? She was twirling her too tempting curls around her finger, smiling that smile that he wished was reserved just for _him_.

His emotions were as green as the beer in his hand.

She was laughing at something the short guy was whispering in her ear. He was standing so close to her that he could probably smell her.

Oh, _he_ knew she smelled good.

Lucky guy.

Where was _his_ luck?

It seemed as if he was fucking allergic to four-clovers or something.

"Dez, can you go get me another beer?". He didn't trust his own balance.

His roommate was in his usual good mood, dancing arrhythmically and alone to the too loud music.

"You sure you need it?"

He glanced over towards her just as she broke out in another set of giggles. Yep, he definitely needed another beer. "Yeah."

"Ok, just give me some green" and he handed the redhead a few wrinkled dollar bills.

...

She hadn't planned on going. But she knew _he_ would be there. She couldn't pass up a night of futilely daydreaming about him while he was off in some corner moping.

Because it was just so much _fun_.

She obviously had a penchant for self-torture.

He had been grumpy for months, as if something heavy, possibly the world, was resting on his broad shoulders and breaking him down little by little.

She wished she knew what it was but they didn't really talk anymore.

She was currently sipping on the green beer, instantly wondering whether the artificial coloring would stick to her teeth, while occasionally observing him through her peripheral vision.

He was wearing a green shirt, of course, most likely not with the _sole_ purpose to tantalize her, but more likely so to avoid getting pinched.

Oh, she wanted to pinch him.

Then slap him.

Then fuck him.

Then make slow love to him into tomorrow.

The shirt had little buttons half-way down the front. Her fingers were aching, itching, to unbutton them and then trail her tongue down his chest.

And then further south.

Down to other places.

Yeah.

She was trying to focus on the discussion she was currently attempting to have with the bead-wearing guy in front of her.

He was cute, a little shorter than the guys, sorry, _guy_, she usually fell for but still much taller than her.

He had introduced himself twice, but the loud music made it difficult to hear and she had finally just nodded when he was still unsuccessful in making himself heard at his third attempt.

It was a good thing the music was too loud.

She was in no shape to carry on a conversation.

Her mind was full of _him_.

It should be freaking illegal to look that good.

...

So they had kissed once. A few months ago.

It had been good.

Really good.

Magical, even.

It was really good and magical.

And then...nothing.

They had both been terrified by the potentiality of ruining their precious _friendship_.

He had even, in some sick, twisted display of unnecessary martyrdom, _encouraged_ her to date other people.

He had regretted it immediately, yet it was too late as she had misinterpreted his suggestion as an indication that _he_ was looking for greener pastures.

_That_ was dumb and quite honestly _impossible_.

_She_ was the fucking greenest grass he had ever seen.

The best kept lawn in the country.

In the world.

In the universe.

Despite their best attempts, their _friendship_ hadn't quite been the same after that.

It was difficult to be friends with someone who you wanted to kiss, well, all over.

And then the _exact_ thing they both had been terrified of had happened anyways.

They stopped hanging out, because the sexual tension was suffocating and they were both too scared and perhaps proud to admit that they might have been wrong.

_He_ was miserable. For some reason, the word friendship left a very sour taste in his mouth nowadays.

_She_ tried to take his advice and distract herself by dating other people.

It had been much more difficult than she had expected, not because she was short on suitors but because none of them were _him_.

She couldn't get the thought of that freaking kiss out of her mind, it was lingering like a God damn emotional spider net, stuck to her brain, refusing to let go despite her constant efforts to wipe it away.

...

He watched her as her company for the night excused himself for the restroom.

Considering the large crowd, the line to the bathrooms would be extensive and he figured he would have at least a few minutes before that pile of shit was to return.

He snuck up on her from behind, managing to catch a nose-full of her perfume before she noticed him.

She did smell good.

She looked surprised.

He guessed that was fair. He had kind of avoided her as of late.

"Hey..._Ally_." Why did her name sound like a combination of a curse and a sensual whisper out of his mouth?

She smiled, reservedly. "You're drunk". Way to state the obvious.

"So are you", him nodding to the beer in her hand.

She didn't deny his claim, just looked at him with those big brown eyes that was the reason for him breathing. It amazed him how they also,simultaneously, managed to take his breath away and unintentionally push him one step closer toward his painful death every single time he looked into them.

"Happy St Patrick's Day, Austin". She almost sounded sad.

And he leaned in and kissed her.

On the cheek.

Because he was a fucking spineless coward.

The brown haired excuse for a man returned and he left, walking home to his nearby apartment alone.

Because watching her leave to spend the night with someone else was too painful even for him.

...

He was on the couch, not really watching the turned on TV, too drunk to go to sleep and to pissed off at himself and the world to do anything else.

And all of a sudden she was there. In the doorway.

He shook his head. It was probably an illusion. Just like love.

And then she spoke and he realized she wasn't.

"Trish was my ride, and she's kind of..."

She was interrupted by his roommate and hers entering the room, loudly, their mouths glued to each others, not even bothering to acknowledge either of them as they were making their way into Dez's room.

He sighed. Not this shit again.

She was lingering in the door way, hesitant, because what had used to be her second home was suddenly inhabited by a stranger, looking a lot like somebody that she used to know.

"I thought you were spending the night with shorty". He sounded more hostile than he had intended.

Or maybe not.

"Not that it is any of your business, but you should know me better than to assume that I would just sleep with anyone. You, out of everyone, should now that sex means something to me." She looked offended.

He _did_ know that.

In all homeslty, he could care less about who she slept with as long as it was with him. And only him. Damn it.

"How would I know? You never talk to me anymore." Even he could hear that he sounded like a whiny 5-year old desperate for attention.

"Ah, don't give me that. You're the one who is constantly in a bad mood, as if you don't want me around or something."

It wasn't that he didn't want her around him. The issue was that he also wanted her under him, on top of him, completely surrounding him.

It was hard to be friendly with someone when you desperately wanted to shred their clothes to pieces and take them hard up against a wall.

_Any_ wall.

"Well, I guess I'm crashing here." She sounded unsure.

He shrugged and stood up. "The couch is all yours", walking towards his room.

He had almost gotten there when she spoke again.

"Did you mean it? That we're better off just as friends? Because you have been a really shitty _friend_ as of late."

He turned around, noticing that there were tears in her eyes, dangling off of her eye lashes as if she in pure stubbornness wouldn't allow them to fall in front of him.

"I know." He sounded exactly the way he felt. Defeated and guilty.

"Why? What did I do?"

"Nothing. You didn't do anything."

The tears were finally falling. Crap. He had made her cry. He had been wrong earlier. Turns out, he was the pile of shit.

And he had to tell her. He just had to.

Her tears were poison to his soul.

"It's not you, it's me. I...I fell in love with you by _you_ doing absolutely nothing but being your gorgeous, incredible self and I, I don't know, I..."

She looked at him in surprise, unsure of how to process the information. It was exactly what she had been wanting, dreaming, to hear, for forever, his words describing her own feelings to a tee, yet so utterly unexpected that she did not know how to respond.

Then he kissed her, really kissed her, while she was still confused and off-guard, because he was tired of being a spineless coward, his lips firm against hers as their mouths inescapably catapulted them out of the friend zone and into lovers' territory.

It might have been sweet at first.

_That_ didn't last, though.

He wasn't in the mood for sweets, he wanted to devour her body like a full-blown expensive meal. His tongue was propelling in her mouth, desperate to convey his feelings for her in non-verbal ways as his words were clearly failing him.

She wasn't late to respond, her body longing to feel him. He tasted like beer and Austin, the best flavor she could think of and she couldn't have enough as she had only been allotted a very limited amount of that specific taste in the past, and none at all for the last few months. She had missed it. She had craved it.

He pushed her towards his room, backwards, attacking her neck with aggressive licks and nibbles, his hands urgently massaging her curves, until they reached the bed, his green comforter soon thrown in a messy pile on the floor as the bed was now occupied by their intertwined bodies. Their matching clothing soon followed suit.

His fingers soon searched for and found her very personal pot of gold, jumping right into it and finding some luck of the Irish, indeed.

Holy hell.

Her wetness exceeded his wildest dreams and her tightness exceeded his most explicit fantasies.

He _needed_ to be inside of her.

Luckily, it seemed like she was over their all but long foreplay as well, as she was currently grinding her hips up against him in search for some type of friction.

"Austin, fuck, take me, fuck me", each word a pant of pleasure.

She was finally giving him the green-light that he had been waiting for for months, heck years.

He almost wanted to pinch _himself_ to make sure that this wasn't a hallucination but actually a dream about to cum through.

He closed his eyes shut, then opening them again and she was still there, underneath him, naked, panting, begging.

So it was real.

She didn't have to ask him twice.

He positioned himself, then pushing his cock all the way into her, while seeing literal rainbows of pleasure, his dick soon penetrating her in quick movements, eagerly, almost desperately, as if he would stop she would go up in smoke and disappear.

She was screaming, her pussy responding to each of his movement by hugging him tighter and tighter, strangling his cock in indescribable pleasure.

It may not be sweet, it may not be romantic, but it sure as heck was intimate and hotter than hell.

He was groaning loudly, unable to contain himself as he was roughly fucking away their stupid _friendship_ one hard thrust at a time.

She came undone, quickly, her body completely lost in the pleasure that was him, and he followed as he came, hard, yellingly, uncontrollably, wonderfully.

...

He woke up, alone in his bed, and she wasn't there.

Fuck.

She had snuck out.

Of course.

Just perfect. His head was pounding, the feeling of dread more damaging than the consumed alcohol.

He wandered towards the fridge, looking for some much needed water, his eye catching something on the kitchen counter.

It was a small note.

He wouldn't have been happier if it had been a winning lottery ticket. And the jackpot was ex amount of million dollars.

Because the note was from _her_.

"Went to get some coffee. Meet me there?"

All of a sudden, in spite of the heavy rain clouds lining the outside sky, it was a beautiful day.

He strolled towards the coffee house. It was funny how all the regular, every day things were just somehow..._greener_. The newly sprung leaves on the trees, the flowers in the neighbor's front yard, even the coffeehouse logo just seemed a little more... _vibrant_.

He entered the small cafe', looking around, his heart beating fast as he at first failed to locate her.

His heart sunk as he realized that maybe she had left already.

And then he breathed out a sigh of relief that he didn't know he had been holding in.

Because there, from one of the small circular tables, his soon-to-be girlfriend was waving and shyly smiling at him, half-drunken coffee in hand and another cup waiting for him at the table.

He kissed her without saying good morning. With tongue. Lots of it.

Because, despite it taking some time, he had finally grown a freaking backbone.

She smiled at him when he reluctantly broke away, a few minutes after passing what was to be considered appropriate for public settings, and he instinctively knew that, from this day to forever, St Patrick's Day would always remain his all-time favorite holiday.


End file.
